


Ann Perkins, Girl Reporter

by kristin



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Animal Death, Apocalypse, Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristin/pseuds/kristin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You decided to wear fake blood splattered clothing during the zombie apocalypse," said Ann, slowly, like maybe if she kept her voice completely level, the answer wouldn’t be yes.</p><p>"Zombies are gonna look at me and think swag," Jean-Ralphio trilled the last word in his falsetto. "Bieber baby don't got nothing on my dope."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ann Perkins, Girl Reporter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [an_ardent_rain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_ardent_rain/gifts).



"Ann Perkins here, day two of the Pawnee zombie apocalypse. The Pawnapocolypse?" Ann mouthed the word to herself. Yeah, that could work, plus, she could always edit it out later. Well, once she figured out how to edit. Maybe she should ask Leslie.

Speaking of, she could hear the humming that meant Leslie was close. Leslie had stayed behind at the evacuation point into Eagleton, bossing everyone around. She had been glaring so much at the Eagletonians that Ann had been afraid she was going to ruin the carefully negotiated evacuation plan, but Ron was there to supervise, then guard the border, so Ann had left. But Leslie must have had all she could take and was catching up now.

"My beautiful darlingest of all Anns,” Leslie smiled, a grin wide enough that it conspired with her hard hat to make her look wilder than her curls. “You’re alive!”

Cliche or not, she was the most beautiful thing Ann had ever seen, even with the suspect stains on her jeans. Because Leslie was alive and she would have a plan. "That I am," she said, smiling so hard the muscles in her cheeks protested.

"You have a camera," Leslie said. And oh, it was probably digging into her back, the way they were hugging now. Ann stepped back and aimed the camera at Leslie.

"I do indeed," she said. Ann didn’t mention the fact that it helped to have a camera in her hands right now. It provided maybe a bit of distance, and with the documentarians evacuating with most of the town, well, it just seemed fitting.

"Ann Perkins, girl reporter," sad Leslie, nodding as if she had heard all the bits that Ann hadn’t said. She paused. "Not that I am qualifying that because you are a girl-"

Ann cut her off, "No, I got it. I like that. Ann Perkins, girl reporter. Ready to tell the news, no matter what."

She turned the camera so she would be framed in it, ready to mug it up, but as she looked-"Holy mother of God." Ann might have also shrieked a little bit, but she wasn’t willing to admit that just yet.

"It is kind of repulsive," said Leslie, a little bit too calmly.

And she was right, it was repulsive. Ann couldn’t tell what sort of animal it was at first glance. Hell, she couldn’t even tell where the massive bloody sores that peeked out of its fure ended and the bloody bits of... whatever that it was that it was gnawing on began. Ann saw some awful stuff as a nurse, but eww.

Clearly there was only one thing they could do. "Kill it! Kill it with fire."

"No!" Leslie pulled out a fishing rod with a net thing at the end from somewhere. No, really, where that hell had that come from? “We capture it.”

"How are you so prepared for this?" asked Ann, wincing as she watched Leslie swing the net in wild arcs towards the, well, the thing. “Oh, give me that,” she said grabbing the net from Leslie and trading it for the camera.

"Ben and I watched a zombie movie marathon a few weeks ago," said Leslie as Ann started trying to herd the zombie thing into the net.

"Would that be the night you called me and asked me to sing to you?" That had been a weird call. OK, on the new scale of weirdness that now went up to zombies, it had been typical Leslie, especially considering her ability to handle horror movies.

"You have a beautiful voice," said Leslie defensively. Ann decided to take that as a yes. She would push it more, but she was concentrating on trying to nudge the thing (she thought it might have been a rabbit?) into the net.

"Got it, got it, got it." Ann would have fistpumped but she didn’t want to jostle the net. "But what do we do with it?"

"Oh, Ben and I came up with a plan for too."

* * *

Clearly the camera had been the best idea ever, because this _needed_ to be immortalized. Even if it involved chronicling her own epic failure. Ice was slippery, ok. She was just sitting her catching her breath because she wanted to, not because she fell on her ass the second she tried to get a better look at the new addition to the rink

“Hold still for a second, I need to focus,” Ann said.

He sighed. "I'm from Minnesota. I bankrupted a town to build Ice Town. Why is everyone surprised that I can skate?" asked Ben as he skated back towards where she was lying half prone on the ice.

She would get up in a minute. Really.

"I don't really think it is the skating so much as the whole," Ann paused, looking for any tactful way to say it, but really, her butt was melting ice into water, so she just went for it. "Batman on ice thing."

"It provides excellent full body coverage in the face of zombies," said Ben defensively.

Ann zoomed in on his face, more to try and avoid the whole cowl in the shot than because his face was doing anything interesting. It didn't work, though she did get a nice insight into his skincare routine. "Well, it is something, anyway," she said.

"Why do you have that camera, anyway? Are you some sort of director now?" Ben said, a little bit scathing. Probably in retaliation for her disdain of his costume, but really, that just wouldn't do. You do not sass Ann Perkins, girl reporter.

"I'm going to cut together every video that exists of you falling on the ice," Ann paused. "And I _know_ that there are lots." She pictured it. Quick cuts of Ben falling over and over. That would be awesome, once she learned how to do it.

Ben squirmed, his face scrunching up. "Yeah, okay, maybe."

Ann smirked. Oh yeah, she had the power here. She held out her unoccupied hand and let Ben pull her up, half towing her to the gap in the board-thingies. "I'm going to keep my eyes on you, mister," she said after she had successfully gotten both feet on solid ground.

He just smiled though, apparently ignoring the threat. "OK, I'm just going to go deal with _that_ then," he said, waving his hand towards the pile of snarling animals in the center of the rink.

“How do you deal with them?” asked Ann. Ben made a face at the camera and didn’t answer. "I am a confessional," she continued, gesturing with the camera. Ben raised an eyebrow at her, so she tried another tactic. “The public needs to know.”

"Really. Well, it isn't that exciting. I just skate in circles and push any escapees back towards the middle with my stick," he said.

"Huh, that really wasn't as exciting as I'd hoped for."

"It works," said Ben, clearly defensive of his zombie containment scheme. "And hey! I thought you were the confessional. There is no talking back in the confessional!"

"Clearly you have never experienced the wonder of an Ann Perkins confessional then," Ann said.

"Clearly not." There was an audible squeal from the pile. "I better-" Ben gestured back towards it with his stick.

"Yeah, yeah, I have to go anyway," said Ann.

* * *

Ann turned on the camera, turning the lens to try and get it in focus. And wow, it was really zoomed in. "How do you?" she asked instinctively as she looked at Donna’s pores. Or, really where her pores should be. The woman’s skin was flawless.

"You don't want to know," said Donna, preening.

"Tell me, tell me," said Jean-Ralphio. Ugh. _He_ survived. OK, that was mean of her. Plus-

"Is that blood on your scarf?" Ann tried to keep her voice level. When was the last time he had been outside and could have been exposed? Or maybe there was something inside. A mouse!

"Oh, no, this is just the chic choice for the zombie apocalypse," he said.

"You decided to wear fake blood splattered clothing during the zombie apocalypse," said Ann, slowly, like maybe if she kept her voice completely level, the answer wouldn’t be yes.

"Zombies are gonna look at me and think swag," he trilled the last word in his falsetto. "Bieber baby don't got nothing on my dope."

"I don't think zombies, you know, think," said Donna.

"Yeah, or else why would they have gone after Jerry?" asked Tom, laughing.

"Ummmm," Ann trailed off.

"No, I knew it wrong as soon as I said it. I did. I just-" Tom kinda crumpled. It was more than a little pitiful, so much so that Ann was almost tempted to go and hug him. But luckily for her journalistic integrity, not to mention her remaining un-groped, Donna and Jean-Ralphio both seemed to have that covered. Within a few seconds he was buried between the two.

"Dammit, Jerry," whispered Ann to herself. And the camera.

"OK, enough with the hugging," said Donna after a long moment, trying to draw back.

Tom made grabby hands. "Nooooo, more hugging.”

"I got'cha boo," said Jean-Ralphio.

"Thanks," said Tom, sighing as he cuddled into him, wrapping the faux-bloodstained scarf around his neck as well.

Ann rolled her eyes. "Can someone come help me grab some of the city maps from the city planner's office?”

"Why?" asked Tom, his voice muffled by Jean-Ralphio’s cravat. A cravat. Under his scarf. Was that cool? Ann just didn’t get it. But that wasn’t the point.

"I'm going to start marking down where the attacks are and what species,” said Ann proudly. This was an awesome idea. “Maybe we can pinpoint a source."

"Bath salts," said Tom, as firmly as he could while being basically garotted by Jean-Ralphio. Man, he could hug. Ann kind of wanted to get in on that action. But no, the potential for grope-age was way too high.

Ann sighed. "Not bath salts, Tom."

"Oh man are you still filming this?" asked Tom, eyes now intent on the lens, distracted from the hug. He ran a hand through his hair, and said "Tom Haverford here, day 2 of the zombie apocalypse. Here we are-"

Ann whacked him on the head with the camera. It was an instinctual movement. “You can monologue while we get the maps out."

Once they were in the office and pulling out the charts, Donna asked, "Do you even know how to read these? I mean, isn't there an app for that?"

"Yes, I do," said Ann proudly.

"Do what?" asked Jean-Ralphio, who was clearly more interested in staring into the lens of the camera than paying any attention to his surroundings.

"Know how to read them. I got my cartographer on when I was dating Mark," said Ann.

"Who?" asked Donna.

Ann would have expected more from her, so she made her best ‘duh’ face as she said, "Mark Brendanowitz."

"Doesn't ring a bell," said Tom. _Really_.

Donna shook her head in agreement. "Was that the cowboy?"

"Oh, no, I remember now,” said Tom. “He was the boring one,"

"Oh, I thought that was Tom," snarked Donna.

"Very funny," he paused. "Wait, which one _am_ I?"

"The mistake," said Ann. His face crumpled a little bit. Dammit. "No, I didn't mean that."

Tom looked up and, oh, that munchkin bastard. "Such a soft touch, Perkins," he said, shaking his head.

"She does have a soft touch," said Leslie, "like a-"

Ann might have done a visible double take. She would have to check the tape later. "Wait, where did you come from?"

"I have news!" said Leslie brightly, before folding in on herself, panting. "Oh, and I also have a cramp. Ouch, and there is some lack of breathing going on too, apparently. Turn on the news."

 

_This is Perd Hapley, from Ya’ Heard with Perd. I have news of the new kind. While many residents fled the town of Pawnee, Indiana, home of the show Ya’ Heard, with Perd, starring Perd Hapley, today due to rumors of a 'zombie apocalypse.'”_

He did the finger-quotes. Of course he did.

_“I have been reliably informed by a source that is reliable that this so-called zombie plague was not, in fact a plague. Things it also isn’t include zombies or bath salts.”_

“Dammit,” said Tom. “I bet Jerry 100 bucks it was bath salts.”

_”It was, in fact, not the fault of the Sweetums Sugar Corp at all.”_

“No one said it was-” said Ann, puzzled.

_”I repeat, not the fault of Sweetums Corp that the vats of ‘sugar’ they certainly did not intentionally dump into the fields caused rabies-like symptoms in small mammals. It also did not promote any rumors that it was also infecting humans in order to be able to clean up spills without informing the EPA._

_“Those rumors were exacerbated by the sight of two zombie-like creatures seen wandering through the parks-”_

“Is that Jerry? And Orin?”

And holy shit. Ann might be mouthing the words out loud. Because holy shit, that was Jerry and Orin, covered in... something and, were they moaning? And OK, she could see how people could think they were zombies.

_“However, it was determined these two people fell simply fell into the substance that may or may not be sugar from the Sweetum factory, causing them to move slowly and moan, due to the chemicals which were certainly not harmful, according to Sweetums._

_“This has been ‘Ya’ Heard, with Perd Hapley, sponsored by Sweetums Candy. Yumm.”_

"OK, well, I guess that was a little less exciting than I hoped for my journalism career," said Ann, making a face.

"I think you are the loveliest, smartest and greatest reporter I have ever been best friends with," said Leslie, before huffing out, "Oh, that was too many words in a row way too soon."

"Wait, this isn't the end of the world?" asked Jean-Ralphio. “I think I might need to go and find my bar. And possibly un-burn my house. That was an awesome party.”

Ann turned the camera around, hoping she was framing her face. "Well, on that note. Ann Perkins, girl reporter, OUT."


End file.
